


Jean Prouvaire was Addicted to Love

by lesverymiserables



Series: Jehan [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Headcanon, M/M, Poetry, e.e. cummings - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesverymiserables/pseuds/lesverymiserables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A description of my Jehan</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jean Prouvaire was Addicted to Love

 

He wore his hair in a braid and, more often than not, one would find a ribbon intermingled with his locks. His eyes were soft and full of understanding. Jehan could look at you for hours and still find you interesting. His skin was smooth and soft to touch. And it looked it. It was hard to be around him and not want to reach out and caress him. Two red lips sat in a perfect pout. Plump, and always ready to be kissed. Alternatively, his lips looked beautiful when they were in movement, softly reciting poetry in a tone that made your heart flutter. His dress shirt had a light flower print, making it his favourite. It sat atop a well defined collarbone. It must be said that Jean Prouvaire was not a strong man, nor was he as fragile as he appeared. The buttons were in the shape of flowers, Courfeyrac had gotten them for him on his seventeenth birthday and Feuilly had helped him sew them on. Twirled around his wrists were ribbons, matching the one in his braid. He wore them to remind himself to be strong. When a person's heart was as open as Jehan's was they were subject to a lot of pain. A lot of happiness as well, but the pain was harder to forget. As for the rest of his outfit, his pants were simple, and not his favourite. He wore dark blue skinny jeans, cuffed an inch or so above his ankle. Once Courf had composed a sonnet about the beauty of midnight blue pants on his bedroom floor. The memory would always make Jehan smile, and when he smiled the world lit up. Jehan was barefoot and standing under an oak tree at the back of the school. He held an e.e. Cummings book and read aloud. No one was around him to hear, and no one needed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> god I am so sorry this was super pretentious  
> I apologize


End file.
